


Memories are Made of This

by PinkGerberDaisies



Series: Quebecois Royals AU [2]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Roman Holiday AU, Romance, Royalty AU, Smut, happiness, throwback week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 21:33:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19048855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkGerberDaisies/pseuds/PinkGerberDaisies
Summary: Life in a mansion as a guest of the royal family isn't quite what Scott expected, and the first week after he joins Princess Tessa in Montreal is full of unexpected road blocks.Or: the five times they're interrupted and the one time they aren't.A mini sort of sequel to my other fic "When in Rome."





	Memories are Made of This

**Author's Note:**

> Take one fresh and tender kiss,  
> Add one stolen night of bliss,  
> One girl; one boy; some grief; some joy:  
> Memories are made of this.  
> \- Dean Martin

** Memories are Made of This **

****

_**1.** Wednesday, December 1st_

 

This is absurd.

Not just this whole day, although that’s been pretty crazy, too. From the mad dash to get to Montreal in the middle of a blizzard, to reuniting with Tess (and finding out she still loves him!), to meeting the actual royal family of Quebec. Her siblings are surprisingly down to earth and cool. Her mom as poised and formal as he’d expected, but friendly, too. Her father… scary as hell, despite looking like he could be a neighbor from Ilderton.

(Tessa’s joke about beheadings had still been fresh in his mind when he shook the king’s hand and introduced himself, and it did _not_ help him relax.)

But no, what’s most absurd is this mansion – specifically this guest room they’d given him to sleep in. Scott’s pretty sure the interior of this room could pay off his parent’s entire mortgage and still leave extra money to spare.

The bed has a dark blue brocade canopy with gold trim and blue damask fabric flowing behind it down the wall to serve as a sort of headboard. The curtains are a light blue with silver fleur-de-lis stitched into the design on both sides of the solid swaths of cloth. All of the furniture and accent pieces have either gold or silver filigree – the mirrors, the lamps, the chairs, the sofa – and the ceiling could be classified as a work of art in its own right. There’s even an actual crystal chandelier like something out of  _Phantom of the Opera_ hanging in the middle of the room.

It. Is. Absurd.

And he can’t possibly sleep here.

The bed is comfortable, of course it is, and the ivory bedding is as fluffy and as soft as one could wish for, but it all feels so impersonal. The kind of room nameless dignitaries stay in or boring, stuffy old hotel guests. The thought that the entire palace might be the same way is depressing as hell, despite all its opulence. Surely Tessa’s room can’t be like this. How sad to have a bedroom without posters or photographs or funky, mismatched pillows or sheets representing your favorite sports team.

It’s not quite midnight yet, he notes with a quick glance at the grandfather clock standing next to the far wall, she might still be awake. Maybe he could sneak over to her room and they could find the kitchen and talk over cups of hot chocolate or something. They haven’t had a second alone since she brought him inside to meet her family, and then it was all chaotic and before he knew it introductions (or rather, interrogations) were over and they were both being rushed off to bed. But he has a million questions for her, starting with everything he’s missed in the last six months and moving backwards from there, and now seems like as good a time as any to ask her about them.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Scott retrieves the folded piece of paper she’d snuck into the pocket of his jeans earlier with a hand drawn map and written instructions to find her room, just like she’d promised, and he commits it to memory with one look before shoving it into the silk-lined pocket of his borrowed pajama pants.

He puts on the ridiculous looking slippers near the bed too, more out of necessity than desire. He hates them, but it probably wouldn’t be dignified to walk around a royal palace in his bare feet. There's probably a law he's breaking just by walking around in his pajamas. 

 

_Take a right out of the guest room_

_Walk down the main hall (don’t turn down any of the other hallways)_

_Left at the end_

_My bedroom is the last door on the right_

The second floor is eerily quiet, the white walls and cream floors dimly lit by the occasional lamp – all of the chandeliers out here been switched off for the night – and Scott starts feeling more and more confident about his plan with each step he takes. Although he’s beginning to regret the slippers even more than he'd expected. There’s a quiet slap accompanying each step that no matter how gently he puts down his foot, he can’t quite seem to prevent.

All of the hallways appear to be abandoned, though, and there’s no sign of movement anywhere he looks. That conversation and cocoa (and hopefully a kiss or two, if he’s lucky) seems closer and closer to becoming a reality.

He finally reaches the end of what must be the longest hallway in his life and he turns right, expecting to spot her door next to the large window looking out over the lake, but instead there are no doors on the right side as mentioned in her note – only an ornate set of double doors on the left, huge and imposing.

Did he remember it wrong?

Scott pulls the paper out of his pants to double-check just as the doors open and King James himself emerges dressed in a dark blue dressing gown with a gold sash tied around his waist and the same kind of ridiculous slippers.

_Shit._

"Scott.” He sounds disappointed, but not exactly surprised, and Scott freezes like he’s one of the marble statues that lines the garden. He has no idea what the proper protocol is here. Does he bow? Curtsy? Beg for mercy? Run? 

“Your, uh, Majesty.” He does a weird twitching thing with his knees and promptly feels like an idiot.

“You appear to be lost,” The King arches one solitary eyebrow, that one expression saying everything Scott needs to know.

 _Explain yourself, and it better be good,_ it seems to say, and he blurts out the first excuse that comes to mind. 

“I was just… looking for the bathroom… But I seem to have gotten turned around.”

The King’s expression doesn’t change, except perhaps to look _more_ upset, and Scott instantly knows that the man is fully aware that there’s a perfectly respectable en-suite attached to Scott’s own room.

“The bathroom,” He repeats, and Scott audibly gulps – images from his high school course on the French Revolution running through his head. Quebec is a French-speaking nation. Did they carry over Madame La Guillotine as well?

“That’s right.” He manages to nod and he hopes it seems at least moderately convincing, but King James looks down the hallway towards the door that _does_ belong to Tessa and slightly shakes his head.

“I think you’ll need to head back the way you came to find that. There’s nothing here for you.”

 _Ouch_. There’s no mistaking what he means by that, and it cuts him more than a little bit to hear it stated so bluntly. Scott’s never been the kind of guy who worried too much about what his date’s parents thought about him – mostly because he always seems to get along really well with parents – but this isn’t just some girl he’s taking out for drinks and a movie, this is _Tessa_. He needs her whole family to approve or he’s terrified she’ll tell him it's over and send him home.

“Yes, sir,” He replies for lack of anything better to say, turning around and heading back the way he came.

"Scott,” King James calls after him, and he pauses to look back over his shoulder, “Tessa is a very special girl.”

"I know that, sir,” Scott nods seriously, “She’s an amazing woman.”

“She deserves all the best things that life has to offer her. I know you care for her, but if I catch even a whisper that you’ve hurt her in any way – _again –_ or that you’re not looking out for her best interests, you will no longer be welcome in my home or my country. Do I make myself clear?”

Scott’s hands clench into fists and his jaw ticks as he swallows the arguments forming in his throat. “Crystal.” He turns to go, but then stops and turns back, unable to stop from defending himself at least a little bit. “Just so you know though, Sir, I have no intention of hurting Tess. Ever. I care about her very much, and I intend to make her as happy as I possibly can.”

The King smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes, “You’re young, but I admire your optimism. Now, don’t let me catch you out here again. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, sir.”

 

  
****

 

_**2.** Thursday, December 2nd_

 

“I can’t believe you’re making me take etiquette lessons,” He groans, slumping in his seat until he catches Tessa’s glare, then immediately correcting his posture.

He’s sitting at one of the million ornate wooden tables that seem to be all over the place, a ridiculous amount of plates, bowls, glasses, and cutlery set out in front of him, and Tessa is standing next to him with her hands on her waist, looking like she means business.

“You used the wrong fork this morning _and_ put orange juice in the wrong glass,” She explains for the third time in as many minutes, and Scott rolls his eyes for the third time as well.

“Did the liquid stay contained?" He snarks, "Then it was the right glass.”

Tessa cracks a smile before curling her lips over her teeth and pressing them together, and Scott smirks and counts it as a win.

Honestly, he doesn’t understand what the big deal is. So what if he’d used a fork instead of the little spoon to eat his egg this morning, or if his orange juice was poured in the wine glass? It’s not his fault the upper class makes things so complicated. Why does anybody need more than one of each item, anyway? All that means is more dishes when everyone’s done. It’s wasteful.

And yet, judging by the way everyone had reacted, you’d think he’d committed a felony. The King had shaken his head like he hadn’t expected any better, the Queen had been silently dismayed, Tessa’s brothers and sister had chuckled under their breaths, and Suzanne – who Scott has mentally come to think of as Tessa’s handler and keeper of all things proper – had immediately declared that extensive etiquette lessons were in order. Starting today.

“This is important because someday I’d like to announce you as my boyfriend and after that happens you’ll be expected to join me at official functions and I want you to be able to feel comfortable and fit in. I know it’s silly, but these are the kinds of things we’re all expected to learn.” Her arms fall from her waist as she brings her hands together to fiddle with the rings on her middle finger, something he notices she does whenever she’s feeling nervous or shy or uncomfortable, and Scott gently takes one of her hands and winds their fingers together to stop her from rubbing the skin raw.

“If you want me to learn it, T, then I will,” He kisses the back of her hand and smiles up at her, and is rewarded with a radiant smile back.

 _That’s what makes all of this worth it_ , he thinks, kissing her hand once more for good measure before turning back to the place setting like he’s getting ready to drive the Indy 500. “Now, I’ve seen _Princess Diaries_ , is this where you pull out a scarf and tie me to the chair?”

“No,” Tessa laughs, “But if you wanted to be tied up, you only had to ask.”

His eyes shoot up to find hers and she smirks at him – her face somehow both adorable and sinful all at once. Suddenly the mood has shifted and gone are his feelings of grouchiness or annoyance, replaced by curiosity and arousal.  

“Is… is tying me up a thing you’d be into? Or vice versa?” He asks, trying not to give away just how much he’s into that idea, but failing horribly when his voice cracks on the last word like he’s a virginal teenager all over again.

“Maybe.” She’s blushing, the color on her cheeks darkening by the second, but she still manages to wink at him and it shoots straight to his groin. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried it. You know the complete extent of my sexual encounters.”

His pants tighten even further at that vivid reminder.

“I have a suggestion,” He starts, all thoughts of etiquette flying out the window, “It’s just a thought, but hear me out here. What if we _didn’t_ learn about utensils – I mean, a knife is a knife – and instead made out over there on that couch for a while. Seriously, T, you guys have like a million couches around here and from what I can tell they’re all going to waste.”

“Scott,” Tessa puts her hands on her hips again and frowns at him, but he knows she isn’t serious when he catches the twinkle in her eyes, “We were learning about how to use a _fork_ properly, not knives. Pay attention.”

“I already know how to _fork_ properly,” He winks and grins playfully up at her, pleased when her fading blush flares back up again and spreads down her neck and underneath the ivory knit sweater she’s wearing, “Let me remind you.”

“I thought you just wanted to make out. Maybe _spoon_ a little,” She shoots back, and he’s delighted that she’s playing along. He’d thought for sure it would take a little more cajoling before she'd realize the wisdom of his plan and give in, but maybe she wants this just as much as he does.

“Whatever you want, T. Just please don’t make me memorize dessert forks and salad spoons and steak glasses anymore.”

Tessa laughs as she shakes her head at him, “You got literally all of that wrong!”

“Oops!” He grins unapologetically, tickling her ribs and making her squeal and jump away, “Admit it. My idea sounds more fun.”

She bites her bottom lip, her eyes drifting over to the hideous floral couch in question, and he knows his suggestion is going to win her over.

“Five minutes,” She offers after a moment of silently debating with herself. It’s a good offer, but he knows he can negotiate a better deal than that.

“Thirty.”

“Ten.”

“Twenty, and I’ll let you take my shirt off.” It’s a gamble. Maybe she doesn’t even want to see him shirtless. But her eyes drop to the grey fabric covering his chest before drifting lower to his abs and he can see her swallow and _nope_ , she definitely does. Offering a shirtless make-out session was the way to go.  

“Fifteen, you take your shirt off, and maybe we can come back to the tying one of us up idea later after we finish your lesson.” She rushes over the last words like she’s embarrassed to admit that she’s still thinking about it, but Scott grins at her and takes her hand – jumping up from the chair and dragging her away from the ridiculous place setting.

“Deal!”

They practically race over to the couch, laughing and tripping over the heavy rugs under their feet, and Tessa wastes no time tugging the hem of his Henley up and over his head and dropping it onto the glass coffee table before taking his face in her hands and kissing him solidly on the mouth.

It’s the first real kiss they’ve shared in twenty-four hours, which after six months apart feels like a lifetime, and Scott sinks into it – kissing her with all those weeks worth of pent up emotions. Her lips are just as soft as he’d remembered, soft and pink and perfect, and if he died right now he’d die a happy man.

But it seems Tessa has other ideas. Not content with their current upright position, she drags her hands around from his back to his abs, scratching lightly with the back of her nails up and up and up until she presses her palms flat against his chest and _pushes_.

Scott lands on the couch cushions with a plop and a “Oomf” and she laughs and follows after him, straddling his waist before bending over to pepper kisses along his jaw and down his neck.

“Tess,” He groans as she nips his collarbone, unconsciously moving his hips against hers in search of some sort of friction. She’s been the sole subject of his fantasies since May and now having her here, on top of him, is almost too much to handle. He’s very close to blowing his load and she hasn’t even touched him below the belt yet.

“Yes?” She murmurs, low and ragged in his ear, and then grinds a little, and his hands fly to her hips to hold her there.

“I’ve had another thought,” He manages to say after a few more minutes kissing her and dry-humping like he’s in his parent’s basement again.

“Okay,” She giggles, kissing him again and capturing his bottom lip with her teeth. _Damn she’s a fast learner._ “What is it?”

“It really isn’t fair for me to be shirtless and you to keep your sweater on. I think, all things considered, for me to be a good student later I should be rewarded now.”

“Shouldn’t your reward come _after_ you complete your lesson?”

“I’ve always worked better with retroactive stimuli. For instance, if you let me see you shirtless right now, then I’ll remember what it’s like while I’m memorizing fork facts and it will motivate me to want to see it again.”

“So you want a reward before _and_ after,” She clarifies, sitting up in his lap, and he’s about to reply, to argue his case further, when she taps her finger against her chin and bobs her head, reaching for the hem of her shirt, “I guess I can agree to that.”

He watches in stunned silence (he hadn't really expected her to say yes!) as each inch of skin is revealed up to where her perfect breasts are encased in a simple white lace bra, and it’s even better than he remembered. Neither his memory, nor his fantasies, have done her justice.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect, T.”

She blushes, but makes no move to cover herself like she did that first time in Rome, and he preens a little to know she still feels so comfortable with him, even after their misunderstanding and separation.

“I love when you call me that.”

“What – T?” He asks and she bites her lip and nods.

“Nobody else ever has. It’s like… it’s this little thing that’s just you. Just us. I like that.”

"I like it, too,” He smiles, tracing the edges of her bra straps and down across the tops of her breasts with his fingertips, making her shiver and her breath hitch, “It suits you.”

“I also love… I mean, I really missed… That is to say, I’ve thought about _this_ a lot since Rome.” She slides her right hand down the middle of his chest to emphasize the point she's trying to make, but Scott captures her hand before she can undo the button on this jeans.

“Tess,” He gulps, closing his eyes to regain some sort of control before continuing, “Jesus. You have no idea how it makes me feel to hear you say that, but we can’t do _that_ here. How far away is your room?”

“Too far.” She doesn’t give him a chance to reply before she’s kissing him again, rearranging herself so that she’s lying fully on tip of him.

The feeling of so much bare skin pressed together is heavenly torture and Scott slides his hands up and down her spine a few times, toying with the clasp of her bra before slipping them underneath the waistband of her jeans instead to cup her ass, his moan matching hers as he rolls their hips together.

“Okay, maybe not too far,” She gasps, “We could run upstairs right now and –“

“How are the lessons come-mon Dieu! Decriss!”

Tessa flies off of him like a bat out of hell, finding her sweater and putting it back on so fast it leaves her hair a tangled mess (although some of that might be his fault, he’s not sure), and Suzanne marches over to them – somehow managing to look livid even though she’s covering the top half of her face with her hand.

“What do you two think you are doing? And in the Queen Mother’s favorite dining room, no less.”

“We were just… studying cutlery.”

Scott laughs. He can’t help it. Her excuse is so ridiculous and her face so adorable, it’s too much to resist, and Tessa giggles quietly under her breath at his reaction before Suzanne drops her hand to glare disapprovingly at her, immediately shutting her up.

“I will take over the etiquette lessons,” Suzanne states, her tone brokering no argument, and Tessa’s shoulders slump. She doesn’t exactly look like she regrets it though, and that’s good enough for Scott. “Mr. Moir, if you could please put on your shirt and head back over to the table, we will continue _without_ these indecent distractions.”

Damn.

 

****

 

_**3.** Saturday, December 4th_

 

Scott blows out a long gust of air and watches as the white cloud it creates swirls in front of his face before dissipating into the frosty air surrounding him. It’s after noon, but Montreal is still sitting at about -5 degrees, despite the sunshine currently painting the freshly fallen snow a pale butter yellow and the cloudless, azure sky.

The scenery is stunning, though, despite the cold, and when Tessa had suggested they don their parkas and escape the oppressive environment inside and finally have a chance again to spend some time alone, he couldn’t agree fast enough. She hadn’t been kidding when she’d said this wouldn’t be normal dating. That she, now _they_ , will always be watched. He hadn’t been kidding either when he’d promised that it was worth it to be with her, but it’s still a lot to get used to, and he appreciates the temporary respite.

“This is the Lac des Deux Montagnes, the Lake of Two Mountains,” Tessa explains as they trek through the snow towards the waterfront, their boots leaving meter-deep footprints behind them, “The name refers to Calvaire Mountain and Saint-Joseph-du-Lac Hill, the two highest peaks of Mont Oka. See?” She points and he tears his focus away from admiring the effect the winter sun has on her eyes – taking them from jade to a vibrant light green – to follow her index finger. “Right there.”

“It’s beautiful,” He hums, “I can see why you love it here.”

He wants to say it’s not as beautiful as she is, but maybe that would be too cheesy and cliché, so he shuts his mouth and listens as she continues talking. He loves her voice, soft and comforting with just a touch of smokiness sometimes, and he could listen to her talk all day.

“My great-grandfather, Charles the Sixth, built TuLyons here in honor of my great-grandmother, Beatrice," Tessa continues happily, "They met on this very beach in 1905. Her horse threw a shoe and he stopped to help and that was all it took. My grandfather, their son, King Samuel the Seventh, always said it was love at first sight. We’ve used it as a family retreat ever since. Any time we can get away from Quebec City for a few days, we come here. It feels much more like home than Le Château Frontenac,” She sighs, a wistful smiles gracing her features, and he can feel her hand tighten almost imperceptibly around his, despite the giant mittens she’s wearing.

“I’m glad I get to see it,” He smiles softly and squeezes her hand back, dropping a kiss on top of her cream-colored toque, “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

She returns his smile, her lips pink and shiny with the cinnamon chapstick she'd put on before coming outside, her cheeks cherry red from the cold, and Scott bends down slowly, waiting for her permission before pressing his lips to hers in a gentle kiss.

It is beautiful here. At this winter wonderland that her family had created for itself here away from the crowds and hustle and bustle of their everyday lives. White as far as the eye can see, sunlight reflecting off of the thick ice and making it shimmer – only broken up by a few rainbow colored huts dotting the surface of the lake. It's not Rome or Ilderton, but it's nice in its own right.

“They’ll open the lake up for ice fishing next month,” Tessa explains, following his gaze, “Pike, walleye, yellow perch – people come from all over to catch them.”

“What about ice skating?” Scott asks, a hopeful lilt to his voice. He loves skating and he’s quite good at it too, if he’s allowed to brag a little. The prospect of getting to do it here with Tess has him itching for a pair of skates and a stick.

“That too,” Tessa nods.

“Do you guys get to go out there?”

“Not on the lake, no,” She frowns and Scott deflates a little, “My father says it’s too risky. A woman fell in two weeks ago and that kind of thing's not as rare as it should be. It happens almost every winter. We have a big pond by the house that always freezes, though, and the ice gets thick enough to skate on so we use that.”

That’s what he’d been hoping to hear, and he's grinning from ear to ear when he says, “Awesome!”

She laughs and fondly shakes her head before tugging on his hand, encouraging him to continue walking. “Come on. I know this isn’t nearly as cool or interesting as Rome, and you were a much better tour guide than I am, but I still have more I want to show you.”

“Nowhere’s as cool or interesting as Rome,” He scoffs, but then tugs sharply on her hand – forcing her to spin towards him so that he can surprise her with another kiss. This one more firm and much less innocent than the first, “But since you’re here, it’s a pretty close second. I personally think you're a great tour guide.”

He winks as he speaks the words, tucking a loose strand of her dark wavy hair behind her ear, and Tessa blushes the prettiest shade of pink he’s ever seen. If he were a poet, he’d write sonnets dedicated to that specific color.

“Look!” She steps away, momentarily tripping on the toe of her boot, and Scott has to bite his lip not to laugh as she rights herself and spins around to hide how her blush burns crimson.

 _I know something that could help distract her from that_ , he thinks mischievously, eyeing the powder surrounding them – an idea beginning to form in his mind. It’s the perfect density, not too wet and not too fluffy, but how mad would she be if he…

Tessa continues talking, oblivious to his evil plans, trudging towards the wooden structure at the far end of the snow-covered beach, “This is the gazebo where Jordan and I used to pretend –“

_Splat!_

She’s cut off by Scott’s snowball hitting her smack dab in the middle of her face just as she was turning around to speak to him, and he doubles over with laughter at the look of shock on her face. Her mouth falling open in an endearingly huge O.

“You just assaulted a member of the royal family,” She stutters, wiping the slush off her face and blinking owlishly at him. She looks like she’s not sure if she should laugh or be angry, so Scott makes the choice for her.

“Did I? What’s she gonna do about it?” He throws the other snowball he’d hidden behind his back, this time hitting her in the chest in a burst of powder, and she cries out in protest.

“Oh, that is _it!_ Game on, Scott!”

In the blink of an eye she’s gathered up a heap of snow of her own and it’s Scott’s turn to be stunned. Tessa throws it with an impressive amount of force, hurtling towards his face, and it hits him right on the cheek.

“I used to play baseball with my brothers,” She smirks, another projectile already prepared – perfectly rounded and ready to be used at a moment’s notice.

“Now, come on, T,” He warns, beginning to circle around her like a lion stalking its prey, “You wouldn’t injure one of your citizens, a member of your _adoring_ public, would you?”

“You’re not one of my citizens,” She reminds him with a tongue-touched smile, and he barely dodges the snowball in time, “You’re Canadian. That makes you fair game.”

“Are you declaring war on my country?”

“I believe I am.”

“So be it then.”

Rather than picking up more snow, Scott lunges for her in an attempt to tackle her to the ground, but Tessa is lighter on her feet than he is – even when weighed down by boots and a million layers of clothing – and she jumps out of the way, dumping a pile of snow on his head as she does with wild laughter that sets his insides alight.

What happens next is the messiest, clumsiest snowball fight in the history of North American winters. Neither of them can stop laughing long enough to aim very well, so they miss most of their shots, but Scott can’t be bothered to care when she looks as happy as she does – hair sparkling with water droplets, head thrown back in uncontrollable laughter, smiling so wide her cheeks will be sore all day.

He’s so distracted by her that he doesn’t see the dip in the ground until it’s too late, and he goes down in a cloud of white, snow ending up in his face and mouth and down his collar. When he emerges he finds Tessa standing a few feet away laughing so hard her eyes are scrunched up tight and her arms are crossed over her stomach.

It’s the perfect opportunity.

He lunges for her again and this time she goes down too, and he tugs the collar of her coat just wide enough to shove a bunch of snow down inside, making her shriek and try to squirm away.

“Scott, it’s cold!” She half-laughs, half-screams, “Don't! Please!”

He swings his right leg over her waist and pins her wrists above her head with his left hand, holding a giant pile of snow above her face with his right, “Do you surrender?”

“Je ne me rendrai jamais!” She cries out defiantly, bucking her hips to try and unseat him, but Scott just lets more of his weight rest on top of her and shrugs.

“I guess that’s a no, then,” He sighs overdramatically and promptly drops the snow on her face, and through her splutters Tessa glares up at him.

“You’ll pay for that.”

“All’s fair in love and war.”

“Actually, the original quote is ‘the rules of fair play do not apply in love and war.’ It was written by a poet named John Lyly.”

“Do you know everything?” He laughs, refusing to budge when she continues to try and wriggle out from under him, and Tessa blushes his favorite shade again.

“No, of course not, I just had a very expensive education.”

A black dot moves in the corner of his eye, catching his attention, and Scott turns to watch it moving out on the ice next to one of the huts. It’s probably nothing, but for some reason it makes him pause teasing her to ask about it.

“Uh, T, I thought you said ice fishing didn’t start until January.”

“What?” She turns to look in the same direction he is just as a flash of light reflects off of the shapeless person, and before he can blink she’s shoving him off herself and scrambling to her feet, reaching out for his hand and tugging him in the direction of the house.

“It’s a pap.”

“A what?”

“Paparazzi. They show up on the lake sometimes with long lens cameras. Once, when she was eighteen, they caught Jordan sunbathing topless out here and my parents had to spend a small fortune to buy up all the photos. I _hate_ them.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“We own a decent amount of the waterfront, yes," Tessa explains, tugging sharply on his hand when he doesn't move fast enough, "But past a certain point there’s nothing we can really do.”

“Well then you know what we have to do, right?”

“What?”

“Run!”

They take off sprinting through the snow as fast as they can. Which really means more of a lurching, hurdling stumble that nearly brings them both down more than once. And they end up falling through the back door of the mansion in a heap of coats and scarves and boots and water, peals of laughter bouncing through the marble entryway and echoing down the hallways.

Their legs are tangled together, but Scott manages to shift enough so that he can face her – pulling the hair out of her mouth and away from her cheeks and forehead before leaning in to kiss her. She’s so happy and luminous, he can’t _not_.

But just as his lips are about to connect with hers, a throat clears rather loudly and pointedly nearby – forcing them to look up in a synchronized motion to find her mother staring down at them. There are twelve other ladies standing around her, all of them dressed in skirt-suits and fancy hats and their expressions ranging from horrified to amused to blatantly curious.  

“Tessa,” Queen Kate smiles at them, but it’s pinched and doesn’t quite reach her eyes, “Perfect timing. The ladies of the Quebecois Refugee Children’s Fund and I were just about to have lunch. Why don’t you join us?”

Tessa kicks his legs away and hurriedly climbs to her feet, smoothing down her coat and trying to fix the bird’s nest that her hair has become, “Of course, Mother. I would love to.”

“Scott,” She turns to him and he feels distinctly twelve years old again. He’s almost tempted to check his head and make sure his hair isn’t all shaved off (a terrible phase he hopes never to repeat). A few of the ladies gasp as they recognize him, and he cringes. God knows what stories these women have read. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up and find Suzanne. I’m sure she has more lessons for you today.”

He knows a dismissal when he hears one, and he stands up, too, trying not to let his disappointment show when he glances at Tessa’s retreating form as it disappears up the stairs. “I will, thank you, ma’am.” 

 

****

 

_**4.** Sunday, December 5th_

 

It turns out that as big as TuLyons is, it’s boring as hell without Tessa.

She’d had to go to mass with her family at the Mary, Queen of the World Cathedral in downtown Montreal, explaining to him before she left that they attend church every Sunday during the months of December and April, and he’d been left behind because they aren’t public yet and he’d stick out like a sore thumb.

Not that he minds that part. If he had it his way he’d stay the secret boyfriend for as long as possible. The small taste he’d had of the paparazzi in Rome and the weeks that followed afterwards was enough to last him a lifetime, yet he knows it’s barely the tip of the iceberg of what he’ll be asked to endure once the world knows about them. He's already had a nightmare about the paparazzi on the lake yesterday, and he's not ready to deal with that multiplied by a thousand. 

One positive about Suzanne teaching him how to fit in is that's she's promised to give him a crash course on PR and dealing with the paparazzi and the public, and he can't wait. He'll feel better when he's more prepared. 

But right now he’s bored and he’s been bored for over an hour and while normally, if he were at home, he could easily find something to do, here he hardly dares touch anything for fear of breaking some hundred year old valuable, so instead he’s sitting in the library, twiddling his thumbs, and he hates it.

He likes to go, likes to _do_ , but here it seems there’s quite a lot of sitting and waiting. Much more than he would have ever expected.

There’s a French-English dictionary on the table though, a big, heavy, leather-bound thing that’s probably from the previous century, and Scott carefully flips it open and starts to peruse through it to find the basic, everyday words he might need.

 _I’ll have to become fluent in French, won’t I?_ He realizes with a lurch. Languages aren’t his thing – just ask Luca. His best friend in Rome had teased him endlessly over every missed pronunciation or incorrect word, even as he corrected him. And even though by the end of his time there he’d started to get a handle on it, he still wasn’t anywhere close to fluency. Not like a native speaker, anyway.

Now he’ll have to start all over again.

          

 

“Here you are!” Tessa calls out happily just as he’s attempting to suffer through the rest of the A’s (he still doesn’t believe abracadabrant is a real word), grabbing an extra chair and coming over to sit next to him at the desk and looking over his shoulder.

“Assoupir,” She reads aloud, her accent perfect, “To make drowsy. That’s exactly how I felt during mass. Have you been studying French this whole time?”

“Assoupir,” He repeats, a poor imitation of her, “That’s how I felt waiting for you. And no, only the last thirty minutes or so. I wasn’t sure if any of the other books were okay to touch, but this one was already out.”

Tessa laughs and shakes her head fondly, stroking the shell of his ear and smiling at him, “They’re books, Scott. They’re meant to be read. Next time feel free to look at whichever one you want.”

“I’m not really interested in reading at the moment.” He closes the heavy dictionary with a loud thump and twists in is seat to face her better so that he can kiss her hello.

For as long as he can remember his parents have always kissed each other hello and goodbye, every day without fail unless one of them was out of town, and he intends to make that a habit in his relationship, too. Joe and Alma have been together thirty-three years and counting, so they must be doing something right, and as far as Scott can tell, it’s because they know that it's the little things that matter most.

"We should write a letter to Rosa,” Tessa says once they’ve broken apart, “She should know we’re together now, and I want to thank her for being so kind to send the package to you, even though she probably hates me for the way things turned out in Rome.”

“No one who actually knows you could ever hate you.” What a ridiculous thing to say. She’s the sweetest person on earth. “But I think that’s a good idea. She’ll be thrilled to know I’m no longer single. It was her greatest wish for me.”

Tessa laughs and Scott grins at her as she digs out a pen and paper from one of the drawers. “Do you want to write it, or shall I?”

"You write it. You probably have nicer handwriting. Mine tends to all blur together from one thought to the next.”

“Alright, then.”

 

_Dear Rosa,_

_I wanted to thank you for forwarding my letter on to Scott this past summer. It really means a lot to me that you went to all that trouble. After some time, it finally managed to make its way into his hands and we have since reunited._

"No, no, no,” Scott stops her by placing his hand over hers, making the pen smush sideways and leaving a long scribble on the page.

“Scott!” Tessa complains, but he ignores her, continuing to shake his head and stealing the pen out of her hand.

“That’s too formal. She’ll hate it.”

“I only know how to write formal letters. It’s not like I had pen pals or passed notes to my friends in class.”

“Here, let me do it.”

 

_Amore mio Rosa,_

_Che bello sentirti! I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write back to you. Your letter got lost in the mail more than a few times. It was quite a mess when it arrived! Thank you for sending it, though. It’s because of you that I came to see Tessa in Montreal, which is where I’m writing from right now._

_We’re together, Rosa! You were right. I’m in love with her, and by some mad stroke of luck she loves me, and we’ve decided to try and make this thing work._

“Wait, Scott, stop –“ Tessa puts her hand on his, much gentler than he had hers, and stops the pen from moving. 

“What’s wrong? I thought it was going well.”

“It is, I like it, but," She hesitates, eyeing his penmanship, "You were right – your handwriting really is atrocious.”

“Hey!”

“You said it first! Here, let me copy it out neatly on a fresh sheet of paper and then you can dictate the rest.”

He pretends to glare at her while she rewrites his letter, but he can't maintain it for long. “I’d be offended if it weren’t so true. I _told_ you all the letters tend to run together.”

“It’s kind of surprising, considering how good you are with your hands in other ways," Tessa comments idly, writing the last few words of his letter before he'd been so rudely interrupted, and Scott pounces on the insinuation she's making with that statement.

“Oh yeah?” He smirks at her, wiggling his eyebrows, and Tessa looks confused for a second before she shakes her head. 

“Not like that! I mean, yes, like that, but no! I meant your aim with the snowballs and the way you – stop looking at me like that!”

“Like what?” He knows exactly what. 

 _Like I want to kiss you_. 

“We are writing a letter to your friend. We don’t have time for shenanigans. Remember what happened on Thursday? We're in a public room.”

“Ugh," He scrunches up his nose and sticks out his tongue, "Don’t remind me. Point taken.”

The library door creaks open and a man quietly clears his throat to alert them of his presence, and Scott turns to see Tessa’s bodyguard Robert standing solemnly by the door. He’s not looking at them, hasn’t so much as twitched in their general direction, but it’s obvious he’s here to stay. And it's obvious why.

“J’ai le feu au cul,” Tessa whispers heatedly under her breath, her eyebrows pushed together and the corners of her lips dropping into a frown, “We weren’t even doing anything!”

That’s another phrase he’ll have to learn.

He knows she has a point, and he’s kind of annoyed, too, but his brain is utterly distracted by the quiet, yet vehement, curse words falling from her pretty mouth.

“Do you always swear in French?”

“Not always. I don't swear very often, but it’s probably fifty/fifty. Why?”

“It’s… kind of hot.”

Her eyes dart to his and she swallows thickly, her mouth falling open slightly as she inhales sharply. Now she’s distracted, too, and that’s exactly the sort of thing that earned them a chaperone in the first place.

“Let’s just… get back to the letter, for now.”

“The letter," He stamps down his rising arousal and faces the desk again, zeroing in on the half empty page in front of them, "Right.”

 

****

 

_**5.** Monday, December 7th_

 

Monday morning dawns bright and beautiful over the Montreal skyline, the sunrise a mix of beautiful shades of pink and purple and yellow, and Scott rises with it feeling refreshed and invigorated. He has a plan for today, a plan for how to spend the whole day alone with Tessa, and he can’t wait to put it into motion.

He’d gone for a walk around the grounds after dinner the night before, Tessa having been pulled away by her parents to do this or that (again), and he'd found the pond Tessa had mentioned a few days ago when they’d discussed ice skating.

After a thorough inspection, he'd deemed it thick enough to skate on, and he’d asked Robert if he had any hockey gear handy. It turns out, hockey is just as popular in Quebec as it is in Canada, because Robert had everything they needed and he promised he’d have someone leave it by the pond this morning for them to use.

(It turns out, once he's off duty, Robert is sympathetic to their plight - something Scott is infinitely grateful for.)

Now he just needs to grab Tessa and sneak out without anyone catching them and forcing him into more etiquette lessons or her into another charity meeting. If they can escape before their noticed, they should be able to successfully avoid everyone for at least most of the day. 

           

He finds her door without the help of the paper this time, choosing to walk down the hallway in his socks, carrying his boots instead of risking them making a noise, and he knocks as quietly as he can.

There’s no sign of any movement inside, no hello or rustle of fabric or even a snore, but he doesn’t dare knock any louder or risk calling her name, so he prays she’ll forgive him for trespassing and opens her door – slipping inside as quickly and silently as possible.

“Tess!” He whisper-shouts, making his way in the pale grey light peaking in through her windows around the furniture towards her four poster bed. There’s a heap in the middle of the blankets that looks vaguely human-shaped, so he figures it must be her, and sure enough when he comes around to the side of the bed he finds her curled up in a ball on her side with her face towards the light – a silk eye mask shielding her from any attempt it might make at intruding.

She looks so peaceful it seems a shame to wake her, but if he doesn’t the day will be stolen from them again.

“Tess,” He tries again, reaching out and gently stroking her shoulder, “Tessa.”

“Mmfmph.” Comes her eloquent reply, and Scott smothers a laugh.

“Come on, T, you’ve got to wake up.” He shakes her a little bit and she clumsily tries to swat his hand away, which he counts as a victory. At least she’s moving now. “It’s a beautiful morning and we need to be out enjoying it. Come on.”

“Go away,” She grumbles, tugging the blankets up over her head, and he does laugh that time.

_Definitely not a morning person, then._

“Tess,” He drawls, low and cajoling and persuasive, gently pulling the blankets away and kissing her cheek before lifting her eye mask up with the tip of his index finger, “Don’t you want to know what the surprise is I have for you?”

“Unless it’s more sleep, no.” She cracks one eye open, probably intending to shoo him away, but as soon as she spots him she seems to fully wake up and realize what’s going on because she shrieks and tugs the blanket back up to her chin. “Scott! What are you doing here?”

“Coming to get you,” He chuckles, grabbing the hand that’s curled around the blankets and encouraging her to get out of bed, “Come on, sleepy head, the morning awaits.”

“What do you mean? How did you get in here?”

“If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again,” He winks, looking around for boots or snow pants or a coat, but she must have them all tucked away inside a closet somewhere, “Now let’s go! Up n’ at ‘em! It’s a good surprise.”

“You’re very bossy in the morning, you know that?” She grumbles, pushing herself out of bed with a grimace and walking directly to the little coffee maker perched on top of her dresser, and Scott smothers another laugh when he sees her matching light blue flannel pajamas with little snowflakes printed all over. They make her look years younger. It's kind of endearing.

“Thank you," He shoots back with a grin. 

“Go wait over there. I’ve got to brush my teeth and get dressed. Then I'm going to drink my coffee, and _then_ you can show me your surprise.”

“Wear something warm!” 

Nope, definitely not a morning person.

 

 

 

"Okay, so obviously we don’t have all the padding and uniforms and everything, but there are some basic things you need to know. This is your hockey stick –“

“Thank you, captain obvious.”

They're standing on the ice in the middle of the pond, two goals set up on either end and each with their own stick and a puck resting between them. Robert had set the whole thing up, exactly as he'd promised, and after some persuading Scott had managed to convince Tessa to play him in a game of one-on-one. She's still a little cranky though, despite her frankly enormous cup of coffee, and he can't help but tease her a little. 

“Wow, so snippy in the morning! This is the puck -” She rolls her eyes and he grins, “Is this too basic for you?”

"I have watched hockey before, you know. We have the Montreal Canadiens here locally and my brothers are big fans.”

“So you’re ready to play one-on-one then?”

“Bring it on.”

They set their sticks down on either side of the puck and Tessa shouts, "Go!"

He manages to get it from her with ease and shoot it into the net, scoring a quick goal, and she looks back and forth between the puck resting in the net and her stick with a frown before looking at him with fierce determination. "Again!”

 

Her grumpiness quickly disappears as they play, replaced by an intense competitiveness that could rival his own. She’s really starting to get into it now, and it’s as if as the sun gets higher, Tessa becomes more awake and invested. She isn’t afraid to get in there and fight him for the puck - slamming into him often and without remorse - digging her stick in front of his and chipping the puck away, and by the time he’s chasing after her it’s too late – the puck is already hitting the back of his net.

“Come on! You’re going easy on me. You didn’t fight me for it!” She yells at him, skating over to his goal to retrieve the puck and dribbling it back towards the center of the ice. 

“I can’t bodycheck a princess!” He argues, pointing out the obvious. He really hadn't intended for this game to include any bodychecking at all, but just because she's doing it, doesn't mean he will. She's so tiny, he'd crush her in two seconds flat. 

“Wanna bet?!” She charges straight for him and Scott holds up his arms in surrender, but she slams into him anyway – sending them both careening towards the ice – and Scott feels it the second his ankle bends unnaturally.

They hit the ice with a teeth-rattling slam, and he cries out, “Ow! Shit.”

“What’s wrong?" Tessa immediately scrambles up off of him, her eyes scanning his body for any obvious signs of injury, "Are you okay?”

“It’s my ankle. It’s probably just a sprain, but –“

“Oh my god! I hurt you! Scott, I’m so sorry! I was trying to be funny and I got carried away. I never should have done that.”

“It’s okay, Tess," He cuts her off, pushing up from the ice so that he can sit up and get a better look, "I’ll be fine.”

“It’s not okay! Can you stand?”

“If you help me, I think so.”

“Of course!” She grasps his wrist and helps pull him up, nearly slipping more than a few times in the process, and together they manage to hobble over to the snowbank where he sits down again – the weight and awkward support of the blade too much for his injured ankle to bear.

Tessa immediately sets to work unlacing his skates, taking both of them off as slowly and as carefully as she can, even though only one foot is injured. “I’m going to call Robert. He can help get you up to the house much faster than I can. And I'm going to call our family physician right away to come look at this and make sure nothing's broken.”

“You don't need to call the doctor, T-"

She looks up at him, and the expression on her face makes him shut his mouth. It's the most pitiful mixture of sorrow, regret, and determination to make things right that he's ever seen. “Yes, I do. I really am so sorry, Scott.”

“Hey, hey,” He takes her hand and uses it to pull her in close enough to kiss her, “It’s hockey. It happens. Don’t feel bad. You know, you were great back there.” He smiles and she half returns it, the corner of her mouth tilting upwards ever so slightly. 

"You weren’t so bad yourself.”  

"I had fun, even if it was cut short. Please don't feel bad about this." 

Robert shows up as promised and helps get him into the house, and then it's all doctors and bandages and ice packs and promises to follow the RICE method for nursing an injury, and well, there goes his hope for a post-game one-on-one private analysis.          

 

****

 

 **+1.** _Monday, December 7 th:  later that night_

 

Well… today did not go how he’d intended.

He’d meant for it to be a day of hockey, fun, flirting, and a little romance. A day for the two of them to just be themselves without any interruptions. A chance to continue reconnecting and getting to know each other – now without Tessa’s lie between them forcing her to fudge the facts.

But nope! Instead he’s stuck back in his over-the-top guest room lying on top of the blankets with his foot wrapped in a bandage and resting on a stack of pillows, tossing the bag of potpourri he’d found on the nightstand high above his head and catching it in the world’s saddest imitation of a baseball game, utterly bored out of his mind. There isn’t even a TV to keep him occupied in here. Just tapestries and chandeliers and dead plants that smell like a granny stuffed in a little maroon bag.

His phone starts vibrating somewhere in the blankets and it couldn’t be better timing. He’ll take any distraction right now. Even a spam caller.

It takes him a couple of seconds to dig it out, but when he does he sees his mother’s face on the screen and he smiles and quickly presses _accept_. “Hey, Ma.”

“Uh oh,” Comes the immediate response, “What’s wrong?”

“What makes you think anything’s wrong?”

“I know that voice. It’s your ‘I’m upset, but trying to hide it,’ voice. What’s happened?”

“Nothing, really,” He sighs, “I just got injured playing hockey against Tess today. It’s not serious,” He hurries to reassure, sensing the question already on the tip of her tongue, “Just a sprained ankle.”

“I’m sorry to hear you got hurt. Have you seen a doctor?”

“They called in their private physician and he got me fixed up in a brace. It’ll be fine in a few days. I’m just stuck in bed now.”

“Oh dear," His mom laughs, her voice full of understanding, "We all know how you hate being cooped up. Try not to break anything while you’re a guest there, please. No matter how stir crazy you get.”

“Ma, I’m not gonna go insane.”

“Hopefully,” She teases, “My shattered vase from Saskatchewan tells a different story. But that’s not all that’s bothering you, is it?”

“That was Charlie and you know it, and no,” He hesitates, debating how much to share with her. He’s an adult, which means he probably should be able to deal with things without the help of his parents, but, well, that’s what mothers are for, isn’t it? “I guess… it’s just different here from what I expected.”

“Ah, I see. What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just figured that in 2010 monarchies would be pretty casual, but it’s the exact opposite. They have schedules and rules for everything and they’re making me learn all sorts of stupid things like what kinds of alcohol go in what glasses and which forks are for the salad and which ones are for fish and which ones are for steak. I don’t want to remember it, which means I can’t remember it, which is bad because I _have_ to remember it if I want to date the princess. Which is the worst part of all, because I hardly get to spend any time with Tess.”

“Have you talked to Tessa about all this?”

“Yes. Well, sort of. My first night here she warned me dating her wouldn’t be like dating a normal person, and I thought I knew what that meant, but apparently not.”

She pauses for a moment before gently asking, “Do you want to come home?”

“No.” His answer is quick and resolute, surprising even him a little bit, and she hums approvingly. 

“Then that’s your answer. You’ll figure things out. Just keep being patient and honest and remember love is more important than cutlery.”

“You’re right. Thanks –“

The door to his room creaks open mid-sentence and Scott looks up, his mind going blank at the sight in front of him. 

Tessa is padding softly across the carpet, barefoot and wearing nothing but a hot pink slip of a nightgown and a matching silk robe that barely reaches the top of her thighs hanging open over it. It’s like a scene from one of his dreams, and he barely manages to stutter out an excuse and farewell to his mom before hanging up and tossing his phone aside, neither knowing nor caring where it lands.

“What are you doing here?” He whispers.

“I came to see how your recovery is going. How’s your foot?” She answers at a normal volume and he wants to remind her to be quiet in case her dad hears them or one of the other hundred people always milling about comes to investigate, but Tessa doesn’t seem too worried. She must be much better at avoiding detection than he is.

“I’ll live,” He pats the mattress when she comes to a stop awkwardly beside the bed, and she smiles and scurries up onto it, sitting up on her knees – close enough that he can reach out and rest his open palm on her bare thigh. The touch somehow both soothing and exhilarating all at once.

“Do you need anything? Ice, pain meds, a warm compress?”

“Just your company. I was going crazy cooped up in here.”

“I’m sorry. We used to have a TV in this room, but it’s the one my Aunt Charlotte likes to use and she hates having TVs in the bedroom, so father had it removed.”

Well, that explains the weird smelling potpourri. And the granny-panties he’d found in the bottom drawer earlier and quickly discarded with a horrified grimace. “She sounds fun.”

“She is, actually. She gives the best dramatized readings you’ll ever hear. Her _Nutcracker_ on Christmas Eve is legendary.”

Tessa goes silent and shifts around for a moment, looking anywhere but at him, and an uneasiness settles over him, making his skin itch. Is she here to give him bad news? She’s spinning the rings around her finger again. Not a good sign. Scott opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong, but she beats him to it.

“Is there anything _else_ you might want?” She looks at him intensely, as if she’s trying to convey a message with her eyes, and it takes him a minute before he finally catches on.

She’s coming onto him!

Relief floods his system and he relaxes into the mattress and pillows some more and holds his arms out in an open gesture, “I’d really like to kiss you," He tells her honestly, "Is that okay?”

Tessa expels a heavy sigh and smiles at him, “More than okay.”

She straddles his waist and his hands come up to rest on her hips in response while she bends down and presses her lips to his. “Tell me if I hurt you, okay?” She flicks her head to gesture towards his ankle and Scott chuckles, low and rumbly in the back of his throat, before humming and grabbing the back of her neck to bring their mouths together again.

His injury is the last thing on his mind right now.

Her wavy hair falls around his face in a dark curtain, overwhelming him with the scent of strawberries, and he feels like he’s in some sort of artificial fruit-scented heaven. Or, even better, like he’s back in his tiny flat in Rome – the two of them wrapped up in the blankets on his futon while the rain pitter-patters against the windowpanes.

This is a much better way to spend his evening than tossing that stupid bag around.

“Can I take your shirt off?” She murmurs against his lips, one of her hands sliding underneath the white cotton t-shirt he’s wearing and scratching lightly around his bellybutton, and Scott answers by using his grip on her hips to lift her up and push her backwards onto his lap so that he can sit up and pull the garment off himself, balling it up and lobbing it over her shoulder like a basketball before laying back down again with a cocky smile.

“Can you take your robe off?” He shoots back with a playful smirk, arching his eyebrow in a way that says _tit for tat_ and tucking his hands underneath his head – watching her with a heated gaze as she nods before reaching into the pocket.

She pulls out a handful of condoms and drops them on the bed before shrugging off the silk and neatly folding it into a square and placing it on the bedside table, and Scott chuckles breathlessly.

“That’s… that’s a lot,” He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat, his mouth having gone as dry as the Sahara at the implication that she plans on having a _lot_ of sex with him, “Where did you get them all?”

“I stole them from Casey’s room,” She shrugs, apparently unapologetic at having robbed her brother, “He and Megan are trying to get pregnant so I figured he doesn’t need them anymore. I grabbed ten. Do you think that will be enough for tonight?”

“Ten!?” He splutters, his dick growing harder at the thought even though he knows it’s impossible for them to use them all before sunrise – even with his, he likes to think, above average stamina.

He’s going to have to disappoint her, but then he looks up at her face – lips clamped shut as she tries not to laugh at him – and he realizes she’s _teasing_.

“Why you little –“ He clenches the fabric at the front of her nightgown in his fist and tugs her down for anther kiss – working his tongue into her mouth and swallowing all of the delicious little noises she makes. "How did you manage to sneak in here without getting caught?" 

“I know how to sneak around my own palace, Scott. And... my father had to attend to some affairs of state back in Quebec City,” Tessa gasps, tilting her chin up so that he can kiss his way down her neck, pausing to work a mark into the skin underneath her ear and smiling when the skin blossoms red, “My mother’s gone to bed. Jordan is hunkered down in the library studying for her last finals before Christmas break. And my brothers have both left for their various holiday assignments around the country this week. Nobody will interrupt us.”

“Interrupt us doing _what_ exactly?” He grins and wiggles his eyebrows and she laughs, light and happy, before capturing his earlobe with her teeth and tugging on it.

“All sorts of things, I hope.”

She grinds her hips against his, making them both moan at the contact, and Scott readjusts his hands on her hips to get a firmer grip and help guide her movements, thrusting up into her a little when she swivels her hips.

“On top again?” He licks across her collarbone and she shivers, her hand finding the nape of his neck and holding on tight.

“I like being on top. Is that okay?”

“Tess, literally whatever you want is okay by me.” As if he’s going to complain about how she wants to have sex when he’s just thrilled she wants to have sex with him at all. She could have told him she wanted to wait until they’d been dating for a while, and he would have been fine with that, but if she wants it _now_ , like this, then he’s happy about that, too. Ecstatic. 

But instead of continuing to grind her hips and pepper his jaw and neck with kisses, she stops and props herself up with her hands on either side of his head, frowning a little. “But I want to know more about what you like.”

“I like being on top, too,” He shrugs, “But I also like being able to do this,” He drags his hands up her legs, starting by tickling the bottom of her feet and moving all the way up over her calves, behind her knees, and up her thighs, “And this,” He continues around to her ass, over her nightgown, kneading her for a moment until her eyes are fluttering closed and she’s whimpering above him, “And this,” He bucks his hips, his erection hitting her center and making her gasp, and he grins, “Besides, this way will be easier tonight since you broke my leg.”

“I did not!” She swats his chest in protest and he laughs, catching her hand and bringing it to his mouth for a kiss.

“We can trade off next time when I’m no longer an invalid.”

“Scott!” She claps her hand over his mouth, but he just grins and continues talking around it.

“On top, on bottom, sideways, backwards, diagonal, standing, upside down –“

“Upside down?” She laughs at his ridiculousness, and he grins.

“Why not? You know, like in the first Spider-Man movie. I’ll try anything with you.”

"You wouldn’t try escargot at dinner.”

“Anything but that.”

“Our famous Quebec fois gras?”

“Definitely not.”

“What about letting me sit on your face?” The last one comes out more quiet and timid, her voice tilting up at the end like she’s embarrassed to say it out loud, her face flushing bright red, and Scott’s mind goes blank for the second time that night.

“That –“ He swallows, “That one I could try.”

“Really?” She looks so sweet and hopeful, you’d think she was asking him if they could try mini golf or ride a Ferris wheel, not new positions for oral sex. How could he ever say no to her when she asks him like that?

Not that he wants to say no. Frankly the very idea of getting to taste her again, making her _come_ again, has him salivating and itching to get her into position. And if she's comfortable with trying that, then so is he. 

“When I wasn’t angry at you or feeling heartbroken, I thought a lot about all the things I wanted to try with you, if I ever got the chance,” Tessa starts to explain, and he rushes to cut her off.  

“Tess, I’m sorry for –“

"Shhh,” She stops him with a finger over his lips while inching her way up his body, the two of them struggling for a minute to figure out where her legs and his arms should go, “That’s so not the point right now. I just meant that I have a very active imagination, and there are so many things I can’t wait to do with you.”

_Fuck._

She scoots up the rest of the way and the first thing he notices is that she’s not wearing any underwear. Tessa, his Tessa, had walked the length of the palace in nothing but a paper thin robe and an even thinner nightgown.

Holy. Shit.

Her pussy is wet and glistening above him, but he doesn’t start there. He wants to tease her a little bit first, drive her a little crazy like she does him – just by existing. So he starts by running his lips up and down the insides of her thighs, grazing her skin in a move that couldn’t be characterized as a kiss, but isn’t exactly _not_ kissing either, nipping a little when her thigh muscles tremble in response to his efforts.

He remembers her words in Rome, her sweet voice whispering, _“The love bites, I like them_ ,” and he takes his time giving her two matching ones on the inside of each thigh. Some of her juices start to leak down her legs and he traces the path with his tongue, moving so slowly he’s sure she can feel every single one of his tastebuds on her sensitive skin before just barely flicking her clit.

“God, Scott. _Please_ ,” She widens her legs a little and sinks down towards his face, clearly begging for more, and he grins and gives it to her – latching onto her clit in earnest and laughing a little when she shrieks and buries her hand in his hair.

He’s never eaten out a girl like this before, but it’s quickly becoming his new favorite position. Lying on his back like this, he’s surrounded by her – her scent, her taste, the feeling of her powerful thighs clenching around either side of his head – and he has the added benefit of having the full use of his hands this way. Room to grab her ass with one and reach up and tweak her nipples with the other – playing with her breasts through the silk until he can see her nipples straining against the fabric.

Tessa’s other hand has made its way to the blue damask hanging behind the bed, holding onto it for dear life, and for the first time since he arrived Scott’s grateful for that particular piece of decoration if it helps keep her upright so that he can continue.

He thrusts his tongue inside her, licking her out as deeply as he can, but he can tell by the way she’s whimpering that it isn’t enough so he lets go of her hip to push a finger inside next to his tongue. Unfortunately, the second he does, the bottom of her nightgown falls over his face, obstructing his view, and that simply won’t do.

With his free hand he grabs the hem and tucks it into the low neckline like an old fashioned dinner napkin, and Tessa looks down at what he’s done and giggles breathlessly. “I could just take it off, you know.”

Scott shakes his head, his nose bumping back and forth over her center, “Not yet.”

He continues working her with his tongue as he inserts a second finger, then a third, and she starts fucking herself on his hand in earnest then, simultaneously rubbing herself against his face as she does - repeating his name like a plea and a prayer all wrapped up together. He can’t really breathe very well, but he doesn’t care. All that matters is that she comes, like this, right now.

With the palm of his hand facing her ass, he stretches her open a little wider, using the extra space to stick his tongue inside her next to his fingers again, curling it around her opening before licking her hard up to her clit, and Tessa cries out – her hand tugging hard enough on his hair that spikes of pain shoot down his spine along with pleasure – so he does it again. And again. Until she’s mindless and trembling above him. And that’s when he wraps his lips around her clit and sucks as hard as he can.

There’s a loud ripping noise as Tessa practically screams and goes tense above him, her juices gushing down his hand and all over his lips and chin, and he wishes he could see her face. Could witness the pure ecstasy he’s sure must be written all over it. The fact that he can't is the only downside to this position. The face she makes when she comes might be the thing he’d thought most about when he’d laid in bed remembering their night together in Rome. _La petite mort_ , she’d called it.

He withdraws his fingers one by one, bringing her down with gentle kitten licks until she collapses backwards in a boneless heap on top of his body, her head landing on his thigh with a thunk – only barely missing hitting his erection (thank god!).

“Oh tabarnak!” She gasps, the unfamiliar word falling from her lips as she starts laughing.

He would ask her about it, but he still has a prime view of her cunt – her knees still spread over his shoulders – and there's more of her come leaking out of her as she laughs, and his primal brain has decided that’s more important right now than whatever French she’s just uttered.

“I ripped the drapes,” She explains, breathless and unmoving, and that does manage to catch his attention.

“What?”

“The drapes. The one hundred and two year old drapes that have been in this house since it was built. I ripped them. How on earth are we going to explain that?”

“What do you mean, _we_?” He jokes, pinching the inside of her thigh over the hickey he'd put there and laughing when she jerks and nearly knees him in the head.

“You’re the one who’s mostly responsible!”

“Are you saying you were so overcome, so _overwhelmed_ , you couldn’t help yourself?” He traces the outside of her pussy with his index finger, spreading around some of her come and watching with fascination as she clenches around nothing - listening to her breath hitch at his feather-light touch.

“Something like that,” She pants, and he feels her hand slipping underneath the waistband of his pajama pants and then she’s _there_ – gripping him with more confidence than she’d had in Rome and pumping him slowly.

“ _Tessa_ ,” He whimpers, his hands falling uselessly back by his head as he scrunches his eyes shut tight, and he’s rewarded by her turning her head to the side and licking a long, wet stripe up his aching cock.

Apparently she took his suggestion about trying all sorts of positions seriously, because he’s never done this before, either. There’s a very strong possibility that this sweet, adorable, deceptively innocent looking, blushing vixen might actually kill him.

But oh, what a way to go.

She releases him and sits up, dragging her nightgown over her head and folding that up as well, setting it on top of her robe, leaving her gloriously naked. _Finally_.

He runs his hands over her abs, tugging lightly on her piercing and smiling when she clenches her stomach and laughs a little, before cupping her breasts and stroking his thumbs over her pebbled nipples.

“What do you want to do next?” She asks, her voice scratchy and low, covering one of his hands with her own and reaching behind to stroke him again as best she can at the awkward angle. “Do you want my mouth on you now?”

“Next time," He answers, jerking into her hand and missing it when the heat of it disappears, "I think I’d rather be inside you, if that’s okay.”

“More than okay,” She repeats her answer from earlier with the sweetest smile and starts to shimmy down his torso, but he slides his hand around her back and stops her from going too far, pressing his fingers into the dip of her spine and encouraging her to lean down so that he can take one of her breasts into his mouth.

“Scott,” She gasps, grinding herself into his abs, and he chuckles darkly and makes a mental note of that for later before moving to the other one, giving it the same treatment as its twin.

After a few minutes she manages to pull herself away and then it’s her turn to laugh as he lifts his head in an attempt to try and follow her, dropping back to the pillow with a pout when she doesn’t let him.

“Wait – just – I want –“ She moves the rest of the way down and retrieves one of the condoms, sliding it on and looking to him for confirmation that she did it right before lining him up and sinking down in one long, slow motion until he’s bottomed out inside her – both of them moaning in unison at how complete and utterly  _right_ it feels.

Tessa places both hands on his chest for support and begins to move above him and his hands find their way to her thighs again, rubbing up and down a few times before reaching around to grab her ass. It's all-consuming, this feeling of being inside her, surrounded by her, and he has to close his eyes for a moment to maintain control and not pump his hips too rapidly or too hard. 

The air around them is heavy with the scent of sex, the darkness oppressive, but not in a bad way. It's as if here in the moonlit room they've created their own private bubble. A place where they can finally be just them, just like he'd wanted.

“You liked this, right?” He squeezes her ass cheeks and she cocks her head, lifting off him a few inches before slamming back down, making his eyes roll back as he groans. And she looks like she makes a mental note of his reaction - cataloging everything inside that brain of hers. 

“Um… having sex with you? Yes, I did. I do.”

“No,” He laughs fondly, “I meant _this_ ,” He slaps her ass as she thrusts downwards again and she cries out and clenches impossibly tighter around him.

“Oh,” She moans, biting down hard on her bottom lip and breathing in through her nose as she tries to maintain her composure, “ _That_. Yes, I liked that, too. Thank you for remembering.”

He busts up laughing, he can’t help it, pulling them right out of that heavy, intense moment they’d been enjoying into something lighter and more carefree. And he decides to flip them over without warning, ignoring both the protests of his ankle and Tessa, and start smothering every inch of her upper body that he can reach with wet, sloppy kisses.

“You’re so polite,” He chuckles, sliding his left hand under her lower back and propping himself up with his right, rocking his hips against hers where they’re still connected, “It’s adorable. You’re adorable.”

She blushes, planting her feet so that she can match his lazy thrusts with her own. Just enough to keep them both on the edge without driving them over. “Um... well... see? Etiquette lessons are important.”

He snorts and buries his face in the crook of her neck, his hips stuttering out of rhythm as his laughter shakes both of their bodies, and she’s helpless to resist joining in – the mood infectious and their joy feeding off of each other’s.

“I didn’t realize those lessons would be applicable during sex. I’ll be sure to pay much closer attention to them going forward.”

Tessa’s laugh dissolves into a moan when he sort of swivels his hips a little, and all thoughts of proper etiquette fade away as their lips find each other’s again and they work their way together towards completion.

Maybe it isn’t the relentless, all-consuming explosion they’d been working towards at the beginning, but it’s tender and sweet and intimate – the echoes of their laughter still lingering around them – and Scott’s glad. It feels right for their first time after reuniting to be like this – slowed down and a little more thorough and heartfelt.

Her mouth latches onto the underside of his jaw as her hand winds its way between their bodies to rub slow circles around her clit, and when she comes – quieter this time, her mouth falling open and her eyes flickering closed – her orgasm triggers his own release and he follows after her, burying his face in her shoulder and riding out the waves of his climax surrounded by her scent.

He comes back to awareness a few minutes later, Tessa’s hands gently caressing up and down his spine and lulling him into sleep, but there’s something he wants to do first. Well, two things. The first being roll to the side so that he doesn’t crush her in the middle of the night, and the second being the retrieval of the gift he’d brought her from Ontario. Or really, from Rome.

“No, don’t,” She protests softly as he swings his legs over the side of the bed, her hand grazing his arm before linking with his fingers and attempting to tug him back into bed, “Stay here.”

“I brought you something, hang on. I’ll be right back.” Scott limps over to the garbage can to dispose of the condom, then makes his way to his bag on the chair in the corner, rifling through it for a second to find the cardboard tube he’s looking for. “I was going to wait and give it to you for Christmas, if I got the chance, but now feels like the right time. Here.”

He hands it to her and climbs back into bed, propping his throbbing ankle back up on the pillows (he’s going to pay for that tomorrow), and holding out his arm so that she can tuck herself into his side before popping the white lid off the top of the brown package.

Tessa carefully grabs the white paper rolled up inside and pulls it out, angling it towards the window as she unfurls it so that she can get better lighting.

“The drawing of us from Rome?”

"Mmhmm,” Scott hums and presses a kiss to her temple, “I thought you should have it. Something to remember that happy day by rather than all those invasive paparazzi photos.”

"Thank you,” She whispers, her voice shaky with unshed tears, “But what about you? I feel bad that there’s only one copy.”

“Well, hopefully you’ll hang it up in your bedroom and I’ll get to see it often,” He jokes, tickling her ribcage, and Tessa laughs and swats his hand away.

“It’s the perfect Christmas present. Thank you.” She leans up to give him a quick kiss, but one quickly turns into four or five, and if he weren’t so exhausted Scott would seriously consider digging out more of those condoms from wherever they got lost in the sheets and putting them to good use.

“You’re very welcome. Do you want to try sleeping naked again? I never did hear your verdict the first time.”

“Yes, please,” She smiles and they scootch down a little so that they’re both lying flat, her head resting over his chest, and Scott can feel sleep starting to claim him when she whispers, “We can make this work, right?”

Somehow he knows she’s not referring to their sleeping position, and he strokes her hair as he murmurs his confident reply, “Of course we can.”

“Good.” She brushes her lips over his heart and he smiles, half asleep. “Je t’adore, Scott.”

He remembers saying those words to her in Rome, his heart bursting with love and affection. They’re just as true now as they were then, and he mumbles the same reply she’d given him, “Oui, je t’adore.”  

           

 

**Author's Note:**

> Just a brief FYI: I changed the capital of Quebec from Montreal to Quebec City, as is actually correct, and changed the official family residence to Le Château Frontenac (look it up, it's impressive!), but the family estate/retreat and Tessa's favorite place is still TuLyons in Montreal. 
> 
> Tabarnak: Basically French Canadian for "fuck"  
> J’ai le feu au cul: Quebecois meaning “I’m pissed” or “I’m mad"  
> Decriss: Get out! This has the weight of “get the hell out”  
> Je ne me rendrai jamais: I will never surrender


End file.
